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All are weary, spirit- broken, discontented, mutinous. Where is the gold ore? There is none. Keymis has never been to the mine after all. His companions curse him as a traitor who has helped Raleigh to deceive them into ruin; the mine is imaginary a lie. The crews are ready to break into open mutiny; after a while they will do so.
Half an hour after the boy goes into the cabin. Keymis is lying on his bed, the pistol by him. The boy moves him. The pistol-shot has broken a rib, and gone no further; but as the corpse is turned over, a long knife is buried in that desperate heart. Another of the old heroes is gone to his wild account. Gradually drops of explanation ooze out.
"They tell me the fever is abating." The Admiral smiled wanly, and in his smile there was still a trace of the golden charm which had once won all men's hearts. "My fever will never abate this side the grave," he said. "Jasper, old friend, I would have you sit with me tonight. I am like King Saul, the sport of devils. Be you my David to exorcise them. I have evil news. Tom Keymis is dead."
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